IT'S THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING

By: Julie Duane

These are the words of an old, old song

I look at my clock; the words aren't wrong

I'm sitting here propped up in bed

With two fat pillows supporting my head

I'm eating fig newtons and writing verse

A little for better - a lot for worse

But nevertheless it's done contentedly

Though there are those who would say dementedly

But the urge to rhyme comes on without warning

Sometimes at three o'clock in the morning